


Off Duty

by onereyofstarlight



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24126685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereyofstarlight/pseuds/onereyofstarlight
Summary: Virgil's insistence that Scott take medical leave is a ridiculous suggestion give that he's very definitely not sick.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Off Duty

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written back in February. I know the world has gotten more sensitive about sickness (for good reason) but to make it really clear - I am archiving, this is just a regular bad cold I'm writing about, if for some reason you missed the "sickfic" tag and don't want to read about Scott getting sick, this is your fair warning.

Scott was very deliberately and carefully breathing out of his mouth.

“Just admit it Scott,” said Virgil impatiently, the ghostly blue of the hologram leeching even more colour from Scott’s pale face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly. “I’m flying, go away.”

“You’re sick,” insisted Virgil.

“It’s okay, you can be honest with us,” piped up Gordon beside him. “We can see your red nose from here.”

“You’re _not_ helping, Gordon.”

“My nose isn’t red,” said Scott, rubbing at it irritably. “And anyway, the holos don’t transmit red.”

“My mistake then, must be your ‘bird.”

“My ‘bird is fine!”

“But is your nose fine?”

“Stop!” Virgil’s voice cut across their squabbles before the comm was disconnected and Scott heaved a sigh of relief, knowing Gordon at least would drop it if Virgil insisted. He felt a bit bad that his little brother was probably copping an earful though.

However, the comms disconnecting meant he could get back to his main problem. His nose was itching terribly. Even rubbing at it wasn’t enough to allay the near burning sensation, and his nose was growing sensitive to the light touch of his hands. With the comms off, he had his chance.

Scott scrabbled quickly for the travel pack of tissues he kept in the cockpit of Thunderbird One, and stifled a sneeze. Once, twice, three times were not enough to clear his airways and he winced at the pressure that had built up in his sinuses. All the same, Scott refused to let a simple head cold dictate his actions. He was fine.

“Are you sick?”

Scott’s self-satisfaction at having hidden his troubles for an unknown stretch of time evaporated.

“I’m good, John,” he said crossly, while inwardly cursing himself at forgetting his nosy brother who had access to every system and who monitored ever comm.

“That didn’t sound good,” said John, narrowing his eyes. “I’m calling Virgil.”

“No, wait Jo– Hi Virgil.”

Virgil didn’t respond, too busy trying to assess his condition from 1200 kilometres away.

Scott plastered his most winning smile across his face and prayed.

The seconds ticked by as Virgil looked critically over him.

“You’re off duty until I can clear you,” he finally decided.

Scott’s face fell.

“But, I’m telling you I’m _fine_ , I’m not sick!”

Scott bit back a cough that was threatening to erupt from his throat.

“Then it’ll be a short medical leave, won’t it?” retorted Virgil.

***

By the time Scott got back to the island, all he wanted was to collapse into bed. The rescue had been long, hard work and he had both a headache and a rapidly worsening cold to hide away. But instead, he had to wait for Virgil.

“How’re you feeling, Scott,” said his Dad’s quiet, calm voice. There was a time when Jeff Tracy had been loud, angry and full of vitality. Now, he was recovering from his ordeal and in the aftermath, they were all needing to relearn their family dynamics and adjust to the changes. His Dad was quiet now, and where normally Scott found the fact unnerving, he couldn’t help the spreading sense of relief in his mind at that very moment.

“I’m fine Dad,” he said in a thick voice. “Virgil is overreacting.”

“Fine is a relative term,” Jeff pointed out. “We’re all fine in comparison to where we were three months ago.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” said Scott, ignoring the mild disapproval in his father’s voice. “Are you cleared for infectious diseases? When was your last round of vaccines?”

“I thought you were fine.”

Scott was spared from answering as Virgil burst through the door. Instead he had a whole slew of new answers to give, questions about symptoms, questions about timing, questions about whether or not he really and truly _felt fine_.

“I’ve told you already,” he snapped, interrupting Virgil’s diagnosis.

He sneezed.

“I’m not sick.”

He sneezed again.

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Another sneeze.

“Just leave me to sleep!”

With that, he stumbled from the room to make his way upstairs to bed. His balance overturned slightly as his inner ear sloshed around into him. He really was feeling a little sick.

At the top of the stairs from the hangar into the living room, he paused. The effort had utterly wiped him out, and Scott couldn’t face yet more stairs to reach his bed.

Coughing harshly, he lowered himself into the sunken pit and grabbed at the nearest blanket as he curled up on the chair he had selected.

He fell into the inky black of unconsciousness before his head even touched the wooden armrests.

***

“You wake him,” whispered a voice.

“No, you.”

“No, _you_!”

Scott stirred involuntarily at the escalating noise, cringing away from it and hoping to slip back into slumber.

“Oh for crying out loud,” muttered a new voice. “ _I’ll_ wake him.”

Before Scott had finished registering the sentence, a blaring klaxon sounded and he instinctively shot straight out of the chair he had fallen asleep in.

It took all his energy to stay upright, the alarm shooting straight through his temples, and just as the noise began to die away, a new voice prolonged the cacophony.

“What the _hell_ , John?”

Scott looked around blearily, hunting for the source of the voice. Virgil was still yelling at an utterly unrepentant John when Scott tottered sideways and began to crash.

Two hands, caught his fall. Familiar and frail, shaking beneath his weight, they guided him down to the couch below.

“I’ve got you son,” said a soft voice, with the gruff undertones of his childhood days when he was sick in bed.

Scott opened his mouth to tell his brothers to go away, but only a ragged croak left his lips.

It got their attention. Virgil looked his brother up and down with a scowl, eyes softening as he took in the way Scott was cradled in their Dad’s arms.

“Don’t do that again,” he said sharply to John. “He needs his rest.”

“And they need to get going,” snapped John, waving his hands at their younger brothers. “Scott should know better than to fall asleep on Thunderbird Three’s entry point.”

Scott squirmed guiltily at the words. His brother was right and the knowledge was sinking deep into his gut.

“It’s not your fault you’re sick,” soothed Jeff’s voice from above him. “Boys, are you going?”

“Yessir,” said Gordon, snapping to attention.

“On our way, Dad,” said Alan.

John’s hologram blinked out without so much as a farewell, but Scott was too busy relishing the silence and the hand stroking gently against his brow to pay him any mind.

He could feel his eyes dropping shut again, his body at odds with his throat which had begun to scratch insistently the second it was able to demand his attention and his consciousness.

He hummed in appreciation as a glass of water was pressed into his hands.

“Thanks, Virg,” he rasped.

“You’re welcome,” said his brother softly. “What do you reckon? Sick now?”

The sudden cold intensified the tickle that Scott had been stubbornly ignoring since he had been woken and he sputtered a little, handing the water back to Virgil. He coughed deeply into the crook of his elbow, his body arching up as it tried to encourage fresh air into his lungs and dislodge the irritation. He could feel his Dad rubbing circles against his back and hear the soft, murmured nonsense that were meant to be whispers of comfort. He wheezed a little as his fit came to an end and saw Virgil frowning out of the corner of his eye. Scott slumped back with a sigh and tried to smile reassuringly.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “I might be getting sick.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Cross posted from Tumblr, original posted on 27/02/2020


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